Best Perfectionists Poems
Ain’t No Such Word
Do you love the English language?
That uses words such as ain’t
Placed in a sentence, like a sandwich
Of the word, I’ve no complaint
There be those who will not use it
No such word as ain’t, they say
But this belief, I do refuse it
And always say it anyway
They say it sounds so uncouth
Ill-educated, don’t you know
That may not be, far from the truth
But somehow, ain’t, has such a flow
If you speak with plums in gob
Then usage sure ain’t gonna happen
It ain’t for me your words to rob
And ain’t for you my words to flatten
In the garden of our language
Ain’t, be no more than a weed
Perfectionists, release your bondage
This flowers bursting to be freed.
I’ve fought the corner of this little word for years,
Been rebuked a thousand times, mind you,
999 of those were on purpose lol
My writing gets wavy and I bet it would annoy some perfectionists out there.
I’m annoying but I don’t care right now.
They hate me, so I write about that too.
The tree outside is weird and funny and bouncy.
So I scribble a tree and the tree has a face.
So I look outside again, and the tree is talking to me.
I’m alone and talking to this tree.
I’m in my room and I sleep here sometimes.
But tonight, sleep seems silly and far away.
Stretching out my words.
Ohhh,
Or awww!
Or owww!
Howling in my room.
Until my mom hears my song and opens my door.
She’s angry.
I turn the light low but never off.
And write about that too!
Permit me if you will to speak of
this great obscurity called love
I am not here to preach or feed
your preconceived clichéd ideas
of linguistic and rhythmic words
live above and dove.
I am here to invoke what is
already deeply embedded in the
very Fabrics of your soul.
I want to insight that traitorous
smile that creeps in on a long
day When the sanity of your
heart won’t let your mind be
whole.I am not talking about
the rushing waves that caress
the contours Of her body as you
stare into her eyes and make
love to her entire being with
just a single kiss.
It is that silent completion that
just her mare presence is
enough And to hear her speak
is simply pure bliss.
I am enraged by the notion that
love is only an emotion,a feeling
A state of mind that comes and
goes like a headache.It surely
makes my head ache when I
see so many emotional
Structures fade because the
foundation were built on
temporary Infatuated bricks.
It is not the desperate
yearnings of companionship nor
the loneliness but the blind
ambition to attain love that
most angers me.
we settle for a good perception
in place of perfection t o ease
our conscious.
If could open your eyes then I
would eradicate your illusions
and place love in your hand for
you to taste it.I said If could
open your eyes then I would
eradicate your illusions and
place love in your hand for you
to taste it.
It is not a feeling of butterflies
in your stomach when they
appear.Hell it isn’t even in the
silent whispers as you attempt
to gather your breath from the
sweet wrath of her bosom.
Its more refined like 1953
corvette or a 1960’s chevrotte
impala you would love to own
one but settle for a 5series
BMW instead it is not the value
but the overall cost that most
frightens you.
So instead of saving we invest
in physical pleasures and
material things. We become
luminary in satisfaction and
perfectionists in pleasure.
It is best to detach from all lust
and desire if it will only pro long
the joy and serenity of soul
matched beings what are we in
the end if we have all we desire
and lack the love we need?
Let’s be honest, I’m not that honest.
Be honest,
Just this once.
Forget all the dilutions of grandeur,
The noise.
Eat it so hard in the teeth that your mouth has a voice.
Unclench your tongue just long enough to choke on your words…
Then swallow your words,
They were never your word.
Just like it was never a case of, “she isn’t the other half of me”. Rational thoughts of that nature that tried to tie emotion to logic were as implausible as the idea that I had any idea in the first place.
It’s a philosophy contingent on empirically knowing that even the most limited of vocabularies can stutter words, reliant on misspelled synonyms that do more justice to a mind clumsy-drunk on love than any perfectionists wet dream of punctuation ever would.
It’s supposed to be messy.
Nights of trying to read the label on prescriptions through empty bottles gave self-induced illiteracy a formal introduction to Benzodiazepines.
See, attempts at dreams of you leave me isolated with feelings of resentment and distain in times of consciousness for nothing more than a lack of sleep.
Insomnia,
A new form of self-deprivation,
A therapy of sorts.
Wearing my “oh so apparent” membership card of bloodshot eyes and shaky hands with pride I’ve developed pipe dreams of time spent with the pillow in a utopia of…you.
I called you Benzo.
The irony is, the only provocation of panic that can get my mind racing fast enough to keep stride with the heart palpitations induced by you saying some other guy’s name is when you say mine.
The type of sickness I only experience when my mind decides to throw out the jury.
Anti-climactic, like her not being home when you knock on the door ready to recite a speech you wrote to explain how words aren’t enough anymore.
Standing there pledging allegiance to silence because the color of words has and always will be too dull to complete our portrait of perfection.
You keep your smiles guarded, with reason. All the more reason that I know I earned every last one, and the last one I got made me realize sometimes you got to burn it to the ground at a moment’s notice.
A flat line to a punch line, silence drowned out the noise…
The perfection clause doesn’t apply,
Yet we struggle to be flawless.
Society demands perfectionism,
But the perfect human ceases to exist.
We are all sinners in an imperfect world,
In a universe that is filled with faults.
Immorality is part of the individual,
A mind which consists of defects.
Misdeeds will prevail in this life,
As wrong acts continues to thrive.
The soul can live based on virtue,
Following a path where dignity rules.
Even though we can’t be perfectionists,
Striving to be finest person is enough.
Quyted (to depart from) your arms is an urge I have held on to
Qwerty language got me typing away with you for no clue (reason)
Quenched in your disqualifying love affair
Tired of being your nightmare twyer and your dream catcher afire
Tripping out because I puffed on my drug of desire - the cigarette of regret and its outrageous results
Trapezoids get paranoid at the sight of your circular ways...triangle angles has shaped your geometrical appearance, your symmetrical awareness
I d-don't mean t-to intrude your without-a-trace personal space
Intrigued to see you have moved on with your life's really rapid race
I don't think perfectionists are normal...nor are pacifists to battle friend grounds, going up and down a bomb-packed wall
Damaged drastically by your dismay days and its highest degrees...lowering my confidence levels inedibly
Do note this - I love your hatred and you hate my love
Dandelions grow where my lily pads float and it doesn't make any logical sense at all...so I hand you a bouquet of stars and forget-me-nots and forgive-me-pleases
Empathic emperors are crowned as clever Kings in my town of undefeated honor and elegant dignity
Empower me with the Haar's breeze for the time being and squander our time like children, chasing around each other at the park and playing following the leader...
Empty your pockets of moonjoy and let it sprinkle upon me spacious, splendid sunrises and I'll be the leader and you the follower this time forth and forevermore
And I utter risk-taking words of bipolar weather (emotions and the changing effects)
Alienated ambition strikes me on stage with brave potentials and talents alike that is the opposite of stage fright altogether
Adorn me with blissful blessings that are of the highest quality and will make all crowds tremor with respectful fear
Rouge roses you tossed at my timid tombstone (doing away with shyness)...now I'm bleeding out Crimson, a vermillion vengefulness you spat at me
Remitting relief grief upon me, the Haar's blasted breeze oh so wretched breeze once at ease...Dona Nobis Pachem please...
"Wise souls direct their energies positively while the unwise do the opposite"
"Love focuses on "equality" while rationality tends towards judgment"
"True truth is love while true lies are based on judgment and hatred"
"All idealists are not perfectionists neither are all perfectionists idealists"
“Music is a cascading waterfall of originality that submerges the tensions of reality and rationality always singing equality”
We get so caught up in right and wrong, discussing it is this that will benefit us and that that will harm us, we get so caught up and tired and so very thoughtful on things that don’t even matter as much, we have to learn to deal with circumstances of our wrong or right behavior, cause fussing over it won’t end it or alter it.
And be brave enough to accept it and conceive the will to change what does not fit you perfectly, we are perfectionists in our own eyes, we distress over the smallest of imperfections and please on the even smaller of perfections
We are simple yet we yearn to complicate that simplicity and change it into something that makes us get along less, we love with our fullest and dream of the many happy days to come yet we know they will never, we are optimists to tragedy and pessimists to hope, we want and want and never stop wanting, we give our all and except our all to be given back to us, but it doesn’t, and we are left with missing pieces that were given by us so we lose ourselves and forget how hard we built them and how many and how much we’ve been through, we go through heaven and would think heaven is to always stay heaven but this world aint perfect in our eyes and something is always missing, someone is always discontent with this heaven we long for so we lose it and lose all those dreamy castles on the clouds for thoughts that demolished them .
And then comes the ache of those beautiful heavenly memories on those clouds with those hearts that were so light, and that light goes off and we are left with this darkness we try to escape, but we see no way out, we look and look for any illusion of that slight precious light and yet we fail although we glimpse it sometimes, live it for a few moments sometimes only to robbed the next morning where wed want it to shine so brightly and so it goes and so we live, blinded but alive, ceasing to look for any more light
And so it comes, engulfing us all, with impassive pitchy shadows, we are lost, we are lightless, we are indifferent to all that comes, we have reached hell.
The Funeral of Tinapa,
Conference table littered with chicken and cockroach laps
A keg of palm wine descending from Adia Abo
Grabbers haggling on sharing formula
Emporiums rust and rats
Shopping mulls moaning
A banner of hypocrisies at the gate’ welcome to Tinapa’
Uniform of incompetence in the helm of decisions,
Tribal perfectionists nailing Tinapa’s coffin
Frustrated villagers pilfering cables and diesel
Amber at lost
Banks limping
Power supply a shadow of the Nigeria factor
Ponet a sheer seasonal fantasies
Nollywood studio an abode of lizards
At December we fool Nigerians with make belief. …
.AWOH KINGSLEY
that's a lot to take on such small shoulders,
that burden to carry when you are not even that older....
The pressure of being best and being perfect, to know how to walk ,talk and how to act... To avoid being bullied by some kids ,
you try to dress up in the same way they did...
In this world full of perfectionists ,
we always want to be on the top of list ...
Forgetting there's much more than that to acquire,
by doing good and helping those who require....
It's easy to go with the negative, chasing the darkness and not being positive.. atlast but not the least we must learn to be human atleast..... Thank you.......... By - vasudha shekhawat...... This is a poem which clearly shows the life of a young kid about how he sees the world and how he gradually becomes the part of this crowd where everyone wants to be completely perfect and wants to get idolized by others...Where he is not aware of what is important but only cares for how others want from him
When two halves of two hearts
Match as a whole
Lips were made to fit
Your eyes are a reflection of yourself
You think the same thoughts
At exactly the same time
Share the same interests
Love the same movies
And songs
Enjoy the same food
Look at each other and both smile
Resemble each other aesthetically
Feel the same
Laugh at the same time
Both love to hug
Both are moody and up or down
Both sense something coming
Before it's happened
Both love to walk in summer rain hand in hand
Share the same dream
Even talk and walk at the same pace
You are both givers
Have the same tastes
Been in the same places
At the same time
Before you met
You even smell the same
Have the same shoe size
And went to the same school
Have the same vision
The same drives
Then you have found perfection
And can dream on
Because despite many of us being perfectionists
Nothing is perfect
It doesn't exist
Just a word often heard.
Familiar victim dancing in the damp darkness
Seeker made, marked, miles of skin
Fashioned into the perfectionists puppet
Tool, temptress, tornado
Fraudulent construction, masked self destruction, every mile mattered
Prison, power, machine
Dumpster of record
Entertainment, goddess on screen
Supporter, tyrant, jester in one
Pretty, pitiful, puppet of miles
Interpreted easily all or none
Oppressor mesmerized by the liars light
Mute, mime, servant in the night
why are people afraid
to think?
to make mistakes,
to be
wrong?
I thought we
were supposed to
learn
from our mistakes
and become better
people.
in my math class
we are supposed
to work
alone
but we often
consult each other
with our problems
because we don't
want to be
wrong
we are all perfectionists
who don't want to be
wrong
for fear of loosing
what we've worked
so hard to gain
knowledge
and if we are
proven wrong
then that means
that there are other things
we have yet to
learn
by having knowledge
we consider ourselves
above others, so
by proving us wrong
you are showing us
how small we are
compared to
others
so take my advice
and prove as many
"smart people"
wrong as you can
show them that there
is more to
life
than showing off
in math class
and being
right
make them do something
they haven't done
in a long time
ask questions
learn
explore
live.
It’s hard being perfect.
Most folks aren’t you know.
People expect more from you.
You must go further than you want to go.
Perfectionists work much harder,
They can’t bear to waste time.
Sometimes, you just have to give in,
And let Life sing its own rhyme.
Traces of errors - demarcate my past mistakes - I could not erase.
While perfectionists - are gluttons for misery - hints they can't redeem,
like beaches, victims - left barren of memories - surging waves stroked clean.
I welcome the sight - of my miscalculations - to refine my trace.
Unhesitantly - why seak perfection with one stroke!? - Far better to strive.
With pencil in hand - I raise my blunt graphite sword - better live, than die.
by,
Martin Braun
3/25/2020